Never Say Goodbye
by Maeve of Winter
Summary: When Trixie's sleuthing gets the Bob-Whites into trouble, Mart must cope with a terrible loss. Oneshot.


The drive back to Crabapple Farm from the cemetery is silent except for Bobby's sniffles. Mart cannot wait to be out of the car; the space is too confining, filled to the brim and bursting with their shared guilt and sorrow.

__No.__

Not shared. Because they don't know- because none of his family can possibly begin to comprehend his level of grief.

Mart is not the one who died, but he wishes he were. He might as well have.

Sun blazes through the car window, sending needles shooting through his retinas, and Mart closes his eyes against the assault. The trees along the road sporadically block out the glare, creating a wavering pattern of light against his face.

__Patches of afternoon sun, constantly shifting and splintering due to the foliage of the surrounding trees, glint through the station wagon windows. Mart watches as the light flickers on Dan's face, highlighting his even features, lending his visage an almost Gaussian blur.__

He rolls down the window.

The weather is beautiful, with the sky blue and the air warm. There's only the softest of breezes, less of a wind than a gentle caress against the skin.

It's as if God is mocking him.

His father pulls the car into the driveway and turns off the engine. No one makes an immediate move to leave the car. For a moment, they all sit still, locked together by their pain and shock.

Mart can't remember a time he ever hated them more than now. He doesn't want to be shut away in a small space with his distraught family. He wants to get out, needs to move, work off the anguish that dominates his every waking moment, escape the stifling family that thinks they can comfort him, understand him, make it all better. They're suffocating him with their very presence- can't they see that?

He needs to be alone.

Alone.

That's what he is now.

Mart's hand is pressed to his forehead, shielding his leaking eyes, but he hears his mother draw in a deep, steadying breath. She opens the passenger door and steps out, the low heels of her pumps scraping against the gravel. His father follows her lead after only a second's hesitation.

It's not surprising to Mart that she's the first one of them to collect herself. His father may be the breadwinner, but his mother is the true backbone of the family.

A flurry of motion, and then his siblings are climbing out of the car as well. He wanted them gone, and now he's the one being left behind.

For about ten seconds, Mart concentrates on inhaling and exhaling evenly, each intake of oxygen a sharp knife into his lungs. A reminder that he is breathing.

He exits the car, slamming the door with such force that the entire frame rocks on the tires. His fingers work clumsily, stripping off his suit jacket and tossing it back through the open window.

Instead of joining his family in their walk to the front door, Mart stalks off in the direction of the southern part of the Wheeler game preserve. His father tries to call him back, but his mother intervenes with a gentle murmur of, "Let him go." Mart can hear his name in Brian's sigh, and in Bobby's quavering tone.

He ignores them all.

Trixie is silent, and it's just as well. He had to eulogize his best friend today because of her.

Deep in the back of their minds, everyone knew that their luck would run out at some point, that Trixie's mysteries would leave at least one of them seriously injured, or worse.

Dan just so happened to catch the "worse." All of their recklessness, carelessness, and mistakes piled up and caved in on him.

He bled to death on a warehouse floor. Alone.

That's what Mart sees when he lies awake at night. He wasn't there, so he doesn't know- but that's the worst part, because now he has to spend the rest of his life wondering.

The early May sun beats down on his back, heating the rage boiling inside Mart, anger at the unfairness of it all. Oddly, being in the sun's unyielding warmth grants him a curious sense of vindication- as though being frustrated with the weather somehow justifies his tension and ire, gives him reason to be angry. Entering the coolness of the dense woods is both a relief and an annoyance.

He plunges headlong into the preserve, wishing he could get lost among the trees forever and never have to return to reality. Mart doesn't know how long or how far he walks. He takes no particular direction, and whenever he reaches a fork, he selects one path at random.

The forest always brought Dan to life. In the shade of the trees, beneath the canopy of climbing vines weaving throughout the branches, he was at his most comfortable, most at ease in his own skin.

"I feel like I was intended to be here," Dan says, glancing fondly at the greenery around him. "As though this is my home, and I was always destined to discover it one day."

A choking sensation swells in Mart's throat, and it doesn't go away when he tries to swallow it down. Tears blur his vision, and he stumbles as the forest unexpectedly gives way to open land, going from dirt trail to soft grass. The sudden sunlight sears into his eyes, bringing him to close his lids, and his jaw clenches and unclenches as tension mounts ever higher. Block by block, it's building inside him, and now he wants to scream, long and loud and hard, just to rid himself of the raw hurt cutting through him. Trying to fool himself, convince himself that he is merely angry rather than agonized, can only work for so long.

He keeps moving forward. He now recognizes where he is.

The azure sky stretches wide above him, streaked with white clouds that flow past, seeming to rush faster than they should. Dandelions, crocuses, Queen Anne's lace, and smartweed dot the field before him, forming a lush patchwork of color that blankets the rolling plains and extends for acres. Green grass sways and rustles, stirred by the light spring breeze.

"__I think this must be what heaven is like," Dan says, an uncommon smile on his face as they cross the field of flowers.__

God, Mart always loved it when he smiled. The expression made him look infinitely younger and happier, bridging the gap created by Dan's aloof and off-putting demeanor. His smile wasn't dazzling; it was quiet, like the rest of him, but brought the best of his already handsome features to the front.

There was a constant steely cynicism and gritty determination in Dan's eyes that never quite faded after his arrival from the city, yet when he smiled, those traces were much less apparent. Dan's smile, infrequent as it was, conveyed a perpetual faithfulness and understanding. When he smiled, it was as though he understood Mart and everything Mart could ever want him to comprehend, believed in Mart as strongly as Mart would like to believe in himself, and saw only the best parts of him, the qualities that Mart wished could be constantly and consistently displayed.

The air is heavy in Mart's lungs when he inhales.

They must have walked through this field together a hundred times, using it as a shortcut to get back and forth to the main part of Sleepyside, back before they earned their driver's licenses. And then again on a few other occasions afterwards, just for old time's sake.

Old time's sake.

There will be no more of that, now. No more walking with Dan across the fields, joining him on evening patrols just for the companionship, or camping out with him in the clearings to watch the sunrise together.

Dan is gone. His best friend, his confidante, the most important individual in his life, the one person he loved on par with his family, is now an empty shell.

Trapped in a wooden box. Covered with dirt. Buried away and hidden from sight.

Traitor sobs rise in his throat, and Mart clamps his jaw shut to prevent them from escaping, but it's useless. A caterwaul, choked and keening, wrangles its way from Mart's mouth, and he falls to his knees. He clutches at his hair, desperately yanking at the ends, and then wraps his arms around himself, trying to hold on.

Once begun, the sobs refuse to cease, ripping through him like shrapnel. His entire frame heaves with the effort, shoulders jerking and hands trembling. Mart just wishes he could do something, anything- put his fist through glass, stab needles into his veins, or burn a brand into his skin- because if it's at the point he's collapsed on the ground crying, it means he's helpless. Means that there truly is nothing he can do for Dan, that Dan truly is gone, that Dan truly is dead.

The sun, overcome by clouds, has lessened by the time his angry sorrow finally weakens into weariness and cold, empty bitterness. He stands, although he's not certain why or how, as there's little reason for him to move, and he's not sure where he's found the inclination.

A single tear traces its way down Mart's cheek. "Is this what heaven is like, Dan?"

The only answer is the breeze hissing through the grass.

He is alone. Dan is gone, leaving Mart to exist in isolation.

The day is bright and beautiful, nature's simple beauty evident before him, but all Mart can feel is a deep, yearning grief.

As fatigue washes over Mart, he exhales slowly, and it leaves his windpipe as a sigh reaching from the very bottom of his lungs. For a moment, he is breathless and dizzy as the wind suddenly increases in strength and steals his breath away. The fading sun streams down on his back and the light flares across his scope of vision, effectively blinding him, if only for a moment. When he finally manages to gasp in air, it is cool and sharp, making his chest ache.

He is helpless. Short of pretending, lying to himself, there is nothing he can do to change this, change the fact that Dan died . . .

Dan is not in a coffin; Dan is not in the ground.

He's helping his uncle at the stable or Tom with the cars at the garage.

He's at Elijah Maypenny's cabin, up at the clubhouse, or back at Crabapple Farm. He'll be waiting for Mart to return so they can talk Watchmen or watch Star Trek.

He's already at college, taking courses and getting his freshman requirement classes out of the way like the classic overachiever he is. Mart will join him at school in the fall.

He's anywhere but the cemetery, anything but dead.

Dan is not . . .

Dan is . . .

But Dan __is__ dead.

Mart closes his eyes just as the wind is picking up, and he swears he can feel the cool, light touch of a hand on his cheek.

__Let go__, a voice seems to whisper into his ear, hot breath tingling his skin.

When he can open his eyes, it all seems clear to him.

Dan is dead. Dead, but not gone. He's all around Mart, in the air and throughout the preserve. He's everywhere at once, no longer bound by the limits of humanity, of mortality.

As long as Mart remembers him, Dan will never be __gone__. To Mart, his best friend can be just as alive as he was a week ago.

Maybe Dan is with Regan or with Tom. Maybe he's helping Trixie with her math homework or teaching Bobby how to play football.

And he's here with Mart, too. Here laughing with him, talking to him, walking alongside him.

"__I'll meet you early tomorrow morning," Dan says. "So we can watch the sunrise together before I go on patrol."__

"Good idea," Mart replies, blinking away any remaining tears. "We should do that more often, because we won't be able to once we leave for college in August."

"__Yeah," Dan agrees, smiling.__

As he sees his best friend grant him a rare smile, Mart cannot help but be roused from his melancholy.

They'll spend the summer together, camping in the preserve and watching sunrises. Then they'll go off to college together in the fall. Come winter, they'll both return to Sleepyside and go ice-skating, Dan's lithe figure a blur dancing gracefully across the glass.

"Come on, then," he imagines himself saying to Dan, as he would if Dan were alive.

Collecting himself, preparing for the return journey and the family awaiting him there, Mart begins the walk back to Crabapple Farm. In his mind's eyes, he pictures Dan's shadow falling alongside his.


End file.
